


you can catch me when i fall

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Gentleness, Hand Feeding, Kneeling, Light BDSM, M/M, Sub Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 21:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What’s up?”The way he said it, Steve thought he knew. His voice was so even and tender, so full of care already. Not asking anything Steve couldn’t give. Tony was so good at that--at making a space for him.-Steve needs to be taken out of his head; Tony takes him down with some very gentle submission.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 225
Collections: Anonymous





	you can catch me when i fall

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for an [old prompt](https://cap-ironman.dreamwidth.org/1847742.html?thread=13790910) on the Cap/Iron Man Kink Meme: "Steve kneeling on a pillow next to Tony while he works, occasionally placing his head in Tony's lap. Maybe Tony pets him or shares snacks with him sometimes. They don't always have sex afterwards, but when they do, Steve gets a choice of servicing Tony anyway he likes or letting Tony take him apart."

The elevator let him out, and Steve dragged himself up to the doorway of the workshop. Restless energy crawled and writhed in his chest, and his hands were clamped tight over his sketchbook and pencils, probably denting the paper and cracking the wood. Steve didn’t care. He wasn’t really here for that, anyway.  
  
“FRIDAY,” he said hoarsely.  
  
He could see Tony’s back in the ‘shop, where he was bent over a panel of the armor. Schematics fluttered around him, the familiar blue casting a glow up the line of Tony’s spine. The sight made something in Steve loosen, just the tiniest bit, under the mass of tight, dark knots in him.  
FRIDAY opened the door for him without another word. She was chatty, usually, but she must’ve been able to sense his mood. Tony’s head came up at the sound of a chime, and he turned to the door with a frown on his face, the shape of his brows limned in that same hologram blue. _Oh, no,_ Steve thought, his breath catching like a fist in his throat. _Oh, no, this is a bad time, he doesn’t want me here,_ and the pencils creaked and shuddered in his grip--but Tony’s face was smoothing out, now, the frown melting into something gentle and welcoming, and air flew out of Steve’s throat in a pained hiss.  
  
“Hey, big guy,” Tony said softly. He nudged his chair away from the table with one foot, rolling a bit closer to Steve. It brought his face out of the holo-light and into the warmer yellow of the overheads, brushing out the lines of his cheekbones, his nose. “What’s up?”  
  
The way he said it, Steve thought he knew. His voice was so even and tender, so full of care already. Not asking anything Steve couldn’t give. Tony was so good at that--at making a space for him. It made tears come to Steve’s eyes in a quick, hot flash. His throat hurt, suddenly, and it was too hard to swallow, and all he could manage to say was, “I need... ”  
  
Tony’s head tilted. Watching, thinking. “You want to come sit with me for a bit, sweetheart?” he asked.  
  
Steve gasped out, “Yes. _Please._”  
  
“Okay,” Tony said, soothingly. “All right. I’ve got you, Steve. Just stay there for a moment, all right? Just stand right there and take some deep breaths for me, please. FRIDAY, blackout, please.”  
  
And then it felt like there was a little more space to breathe, somehow. Finally. Because Tony had said it. Steve sucked in air, shakily, trying to force himself to use his diaphragm. One breath, and an exhale, and then two, as he watched Tony go over to a cabinet and tap something into a keypad there. Another breath. Tony pulled out the red cushion, the one that was big enough that he needed to hold it in two hands, and Steve’s exhale this time sounded needy, desperate, in a way that made his cheeks flare and burn, but--  
  
“There you go, Steve, good, you’re doing good.” Tony looked up and caught Steve’s eye.   
  
He wasn’t smiling, not quite, but his eyes were still just--so, so gentle. So gentle and clear. Deep. Steve couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure what he was giving to Tony with his own gaze--nothing good, probably, probably everything _ugly_ and awful. The anger, maybe, the fury and fear and panic of Jan dipping out of sight beneath the water and of Natasha’s scream. The heaviness of it all, the way it weighed and snarled and pulled at his lungs and heart like barbed wire. All those nasty damned things that Steve _hated_, that he wanted to purge from his mind so he could be a better leader, that sometimes woke him in the middle of the night and made him wish that he could take an eraser to parts of his own brain.  
  
But whatever Tony saw, his expression didn’t change, except to ease open the tiniest bit. Without speaking another word, he walked backwards to his chair, and set the cushion down beside it.  
  
A high, thin sound broke into the room; it was only a moment later that Steve realized it had been _him_, moaning with need. The flush blazed down his face and neck, and shame wriggled in under his breastbone. God, he was pathetic, he was--  
  
“Steve. Look at me, please. And breathe. Deep breath.”  
  
His breath wheezed out. Steve pried his eyes open and swallowed, looking up, although his chest ached with shame. Tony’s mouth smiled at him, though--a little one, just a half-curl, the kind Steve loved to draw--and that made the feeling mute and fade a bit.  
  
“Good, Steve,” he said, sincerity ringing in his voice. Steve swallowed again, convulsively, clinging to the sound of Tony’s voice. He panted out another soft breath, then made himself take in another deep one, like Tony had said to. Tony’s eyes crinkled at the corner, the smile slowly widening, and it was so--so obviously fond, that Steve felt the heat of it touch all the way to his core, like a shaft of light, past the cloud of tension and darkness in him.  
  
“Good,” Tony repeated. “You’re doing so well, honey. Just one more minute, okay?”  
  
_Tony wouldn’t sound like that for someone he didn’t care about,_ Steve told himself. It felt thin and weak in his inner ear, but he thought it again, anyway: _He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t take such care with me if he didn’t think I was worth the trouble._ He pulled in breaths as slowly as he could, his eyes tracking Tony as Tony reached over to rummage in another drawer and drew out something Steve couldn’t see. He placed whatever it was on the desk, then turned back to Steve, and sat in his chair.  
  
“Okay, you ready for the next part? Nod or shake your head, please.”  
  
Steve’s head came down in a violent nod. Now that he could see the cushion laid out beside Tony, his knees had begun to sting with want for it. He needed it, he _needed_ it. He could barely think beyond the needing under the frustration.  
  
“Yeah, that’s my good boy.”   
  
The words warm and melting, deep and smoky-sweet like only Tony’s voice could be. Steve felt his eyelashes flutter with the sound, warmth welling up in his belly, and he had to swallow to keep from moaning again.   
  
“That’s my good boy,” Tony repeated--and Steve knew that Tony had watched him react, watched him _want_ Tony to say it, so badly, and chosen to give it to him again. Because he thought Steve deserved it. Because he thought Steve _was_ good. The tight muscles across his back loosened just a little, and he gulped back a gasp at the sudden tiny relief of pain. He was holding himself so tight, but he couldn’t help it. Needed Tony to help him. He looked at Tony again, panting faintly, trying to put it all into his face as clear as could be. _Yes. Thank you. I need you. Please._  
  
Tony gave a low hum. His eyes looked luminous, glowing, like something magical in the warm light. “Good,” he said once more, and then, “put your sketchbook and your pencils down on the table, sweetheart, and then come kneel.”  
  
His beautiful, sturdy hand pointed at the cushion beside him, and Steve felt a sigh work up through his throat. Kneel--yeah, he could do that. He could do that, if nothing else. He placed his things beside him, carefully not cataloging the damage in his conscious mind, then turned towards Tony. It was only a few steps, and then he was falling to his knees on the cushion.  
  
The softened thud of it shuddered up through him, heavy and good, warming him through like he’d been sitting in the sun. Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand rather than the sweet sensation, he arranged himself properly on the cushion facing the edge of the table. He felt Tony’s eyes on him the whole time--hot, but feather-soft, somehow. Like fingers tracing over his collarbones and waist and face. Once he was settled, he looked up at Tony, his heart beating in his throat and his hands curled into fists over his knees.  
  
Tony smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “There we go,” he said, and reached out to cup the back of Steve’s neck.   
  
The touch went down through Steve’s skin, Tony’s hand cool and soothing, the rough calluses brushing against his sensitive nape in a way that made his stomach swoop and flutter. He exhaled, pushing desperately back into the solidity of the touch.   
  
“Yes, good, Steve, good. Take another deep, slow breath for me, will you?”  
  
Steve let his eyes closed and focused on inhaling evenly, and then let it out, stuttery and jumping, when the soft weight of Tony’s palm slid down to bolster his shoulder. “Again,” Tony breathed out, leaning in closer so the wisps of it brushed over Steve’s ear, spiraling a sparkling wave of pleasure up the back of his head, in amongst the tension and fear and anger still clinging there. Steve breathed in again, more evenly, and again, when Tony coaxed him. A seeping wave of calm was settling over him, very slowly, inch by inch. Not easily, but it was.  
  
“Good boy,” Tony purred.  
  
A sigh rose up out of Steve. It sounded like a benediction in the quiet of the room. His spine unlocked, just a little more, and he found his hands, clenched in claws at his sides, finally loosening.  
  
“There you go, yes, beautiful.” A hot, tingling brush of Tony’s lips at his temple, and the soft scrape of his beard against Steve’s skin, making him shiver. Tony’s hand squeezed his shoulder, firm and so _present_, then trailed over Steve’s back as he brought it back to his lap. Steve’s eyelids felt heavy as anything. They’d closed at some point. He didn’t open them; could sense the warmth of Tony’s body without doing that, and it was easier, in the darkness. Easier to focus on his body and Tony’s voice.  
  
“Just kneel there for me, sweetheart. Hands on your thighs,” Tony went on. “And breathe. Just right here, right here with me. I’m going to work for a bit, and you’re going to keep me company, sit there and look pretty for me. Like the good boy you are.”  
  
Steve sighed again, and pulled his tingling hands up onto his thighs. He forced the fingers to straighten out and laid them flat.  
  
“Perfect,” Tony murmured. His voice was so husky and shivery and soft. Pride tinged the words and made them shine and shimmer in the dark behind Steve’s eyelids. “Just like that. God, aren’t you a picture? So beautiful, Steve.”  
  
Steve fought with the urge to duck his head or clear his throat. Some corner of his mind still wanted to shake off the praise, the sweetness tucked into Tony’s voice; wanted to stand up, straight-shouldered and clear-eyed, and be the kind of person who didn’t need this help, this soft treatment. That was a part of him that was poisonous and cold, that thought it was weak to need to lean on Tony like this, although he knew better than that. With another deep breath, he turned his thoughts back towards where he was now, focusing on the warmth of his own hands on his thighs and the feeling of his khakis under his fingertips to keep his mind in the present.  
  
“And you remember your safewords?” Tony went on. Steve jerked his head in a nod. “Gonna need verbal confirmation for that, sweetheart.”  
  
“Yes,” Steve forced himself to say. His own voice had gone crackled and dry, and he winced at it, shoulders curling in, but made himself add, “Red, yellow, green.”  
  
“Good.” The squeak of Tony’s chair moving closer, so the heat of him was even more tangible. Steve shivered. “I’m going to tell you how I’d like things to go tonight, all right? You can say yes or no, or nod or shake your head, to any of it, and I promise you I won’t be disappointed if you do. You’ve already done so well.”  
  
_You’ve done well,_ Steve repeated to himself, and though the words still didn’t feel true in his own voice, it was good enough that he could take another slow, skipping breath in.  
  
“Excellent,” Tony said, obviously pleased at that. “Okay. I want you to kneel here with me while I work, like I said. Still and pretty, just for me. Take deep breaths. Pay attention to how they feel. You can lean on me and put your head in my lap if you want. I’ll probably pet you, if you do. And I’ve got some water and snacks here. If you want them, you’ll take them from my hand and _only_ my hand; if you don’t, you can just shake your head or turn away. Does that sound good, sweetheart?”  
  
Every word made his heart strain and strain with desire, and Steve found himself swaying forward helplessly. His skin was starting to throb hot all over. He made himself shake his head and forced his eyes open so he could fix Tony’s gaze with his. Tony’s expression was warm with certainty, and when Steve nodded, he cupped Steve’s chin in his hand, his grip careful, delicate. Like he was holding something precious.  
  
“Good boy,” he said, _sotto voce_, and kissed Steve’s forehead.  
  
He turned back to his projection, then, and Steve knelt. Knelt solidly. His spine was straight and centered over his sit bones, and his hands lay cupped over his thighs. He could hear Tony take up typing again, and hear him muttering to JARVIS, and the sounds settled over him like a blanket. His eyes drifted closed, though he stayed alert.  
  
He followed Tony’s orders: paid close attention to each tiny dilation of his lungs as he inhaled, charted each muscle shift in his mind’s eye. Stayed still as still could be. _Still and pretty for me,_ Tony had said, and the words shone like crystal in Steve’s mind. He could be still. He could do that. That was all he had to do, was stay still, and he would be beautiful, to Tony. _For_ Tony.  
  
His skin and muscles thrummed with awareness. A warmth started to spread down his spine from his neck, and slowly, Steve’s breaths grew deeper and deeper. Millimeter by millimeter by millimeter, things untensed, unclenched, unknotted. Tony hummed beside him, and Steve was filled with a soft, deep want: he let his eyes flicker open, and shuffled a little, to lay his head along Tony’s knee.  
  
“Hello, my love,” Tony murmured, in his working voice, but still tinged with affection. Steve sank a little deeper. He felt Tony’s fingers settle in his hair, then started to card through it. Each touch sent a shivering spark through his nerves, and Steve’s eyes closed again without his say-so. Tony’s hand was a little cold, but it warmed in a few moments in Steve’s hair, and Steve couldn’t help but think, proudly, _I did that. I helped him, too._ And then it settled on Steve’s neck, warm, heavy, Tony’s thumb brushing up and down the side of his throat just so lightly, and Steve had to swallow a gasp as he felt Tony anchor him like that.

He sank farther. Settled. Felt his breath expand his ribcage and slowly bring his body down, down, down. Tony’s hand brushed up his jaw and over the back of his head, and he followed the thereness of the sensation, feeling the pleasure of it pulling deep inside him.  
  
“There you go. Just let go of all that tension, _caro_. You don’t need to hold that for us anymore.”  
  
Yeah.  
  
That was right. Finally, that was right.  
  
Time stretched, after that. Long and quiet and jumping, like a double shadow on a winter afternoon. Sometimes Tony offered him tiny champagne grapes and tamari almonds and bits of cheese, and Steve took them delicately with his mouth, bursts of sweetness and smoky flavor that felt larger than life. Sometimes it was cool water. Sometimes Steve drifted closer to the surface, tracing the path of Tony’s fingers, hearing his soft, occasional words like raindrops on his hair. “Breathe, sweetness, a deep breath now,” or, “Be still, my love. There you go. You’re as lovely as a Canova--beautiful. Perfect.” And other times he let himself swing farther away, soaking in the quiet buzz of subspace. Calm. Steady. Safe.   
  
Tony’s thigh was warm, and his hand was warm, and _Steve_ was warm, too, right down to the barest parts of his heart. The fear and the anger and the guilt and the grief had faded quite fully from him now, unknotting his breath and muscles and leaving him woven in Tony’s perfect spell, clear and bright as a bell.  
  
Sometime later, Tony was saying something that brought Steve back towards awareness. With a slight frown of concentration, Steve replayed the words in his head.  
  
“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”  
  
“Green,” Steve breathed. “Green as glass, Tony.”  
  
Tony’s fingers rubbed at his shoulder. “Glad to hear it. You ready to come up a bit farther and go to bed, or do you want to have sex?”  
  
Steve’s cheeks flushed instantly hot. The way Tony talked about it was always so easy, so brazen. And it never failed to spark wanting in him, put something shimmering and aching in his gut. He strained his neck up, blinking his eyes open to look blearily, pleadingly up at Tony. Tony smiled at him.  
  
“You gotta tell me if there’s something you want, you know that.” His voice was dark and teasing, toying with Steve in the best possible way. Steve inhaled like a shot, hands clenching and falling open again involuntarily. Tony mostly saved that voice for the other times they did this, just for fun--when Steve only _wanted_ it, and didn’t _need_ it--but the hint of it now was perfect. A reminder that no matter where Steve’s head was at, Tony would have him. Still, it was hard to make the words come. It always was, after floating so completely.  
  
“I--” he tried, “I--Tony--”  
  
“Come on now, you can do it.” Now the darkness had turned sweet and deep, like molasses, and Tony’s fingers trailed down over Steve’s bottom lip, bringing tingling sensation with them.  
  
“Sex,” Steve made himself say. His cheeks went hotter, and he had to close his eyes, he suddenly wanted it so much. “Please, Tony, can we--?”  
  
Tony twisted, leaned over until his lips brushed Steve’s hair. “Good boy, telling me what you want. Thank you, Steve. Well done.”  
  
Steve let out his breath, pushing up into the touch. Thrumming with Tony’s care. Polished, and loved, and adored, and safe.  
  
He knew Tony would give him a choice, and he knew what he would say, then, but he waited for it anyway.  
  
“You want to serve me, or let me take care of you, love?”  
  
“You take care of me,” Steve mumbled. He knew when he had come in, he would have been too embarrassed to say that so blatantly. To _need_ that. But Tony had wiped all that carefully away, with time and patience, as he always did. Steve was beautifully hollow of anger and fear, and could let what he needed be truth.  
  
“Beautiful,” Tony murmured. “Precious, darling boy… you’re so good to me, Steve. So good _for_ me. And I think you deserve a reward for that. We’re going to go up to the penthouse, okay?”  
  
Steve felt he was glowing like a star under Tony’s words. “Yeah,” he managed. “Okay, Tony.”  
  
“Stand up, then--slowly. You might feel a little wobbly. Hold my hand, love.”  
  
Steve gripped Tony’s hand and drew himself up, trying to be slow about it, like Tony’d said to. He did feel wobbly, a little fuzzed and far away from his balance, but Tony’s hand anchored him, and Tony’s arm braced him.  
  
“Marvelous,” Tony said. “I’ve got you. Come on, elevator now.”  
  
The elevator was waiting when they got to that side of the workshop; Tony propped Steve against the wall, his arm still around Steve’s waist. Steve smiled at him, feeling it on his cheeks, the sweet pull of it. Tony smiled back, affection in every line of his face.  
  
“You’re real down in it still, huh?”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve said, slowly. “S’good. Feels good, Tony.”  
  
“Good. I’m so glad, sweetheart.” Tony squeezed his waist, then petted along the edge of his shirt, teasing the skin at Steve’s hip. “I’m gonna make you feel even better, I promise.”  
  
Steve didn’t know what he’d do with _better_, but then, it wasn’t his job to think right now. He let the anticipation pass over him in a shivery wave and said, “Okay, Tony,” and when the doors opened, he let Tony lead him to the bed.  
  
“Face the bed, and clothes off,” Tony ordered. “Fold them and stack them on the bed, then sit down in the armchair. Got it? And keep your eyes off me.”  
  
Steve nodded and followed his directions. He ached to look at Tony--he could hear the shushing sound of him removing his clothes behind Steve’s back, and he knew it would be a beautiful sight. But he was good; he could be good. His cock plumped a little further at the thought. He wasn’t sure what Tony had in mind, but that wasn’t for him to worry about. He knew it would be wonderful, anyway.  
  
He took in a sharp breath when he sat down in the chair. Tony had bought it for him: dark brown leather, in a classic style, and wide enough for Steve to curl up with a book in the mornings. Tony had also purred into his ear when it was delivered, “Leather’s easy to clean, you know. Should you _spill_ something,” and proved it later. Steve loved that chair, for many reasons.   
  
It was always cold when you first sat in it, though, and it was like a slap all down Steve’s back and rear and legs, now, the cool slipperiness against his flushed, warm skin. The shock of sensation submerged him back further into the easy soft black of subspace, melted his body even further.  
  
“Good boy,” Tony husked out. Steve’s eyes found Tony’s, and he made a sound--somewhere partway between a moan and a plea. Tony was so beautiful, all vibrant, energetic lines, and the arc reactor was gleaming in the middle of it all painting everything with magic again. Steve could barely stand it sometimes, how much he loved this person, how wonderful it was.  
  
“I know,” Tony said, stepping forward. “Just a moment, honey. I’ll take care of you.”  
  
And then he sank to his knees.  
  
Steve’s lips parted in a gasp, and then Tony’s hot, steady hands were braced on his thighs and his even-hotter mouth was sliding lushly over the head of Steve’s cock. He let out a whine, and his head dropped back against the chair.  
  
He wouldn’t last long--it felt too good, white-hot pleasure beaming and leaping through every bit of him at the touch of Tony’s lips and tongue. His mouth was so _wet_ and good, so silken and soft and warm, and Steve trembled trying to hold his hips still. Tony’s hands slid up his thighs to curl over his hips, firmly, and Steve’s fingers tightened on the arms of the chair.  
  
Tony went right for it, not wasting any time. He used his tongue to toy with Steve’s head until Steve had to draw in a huge breath against the slow glow of bliss spreading through his whole body. Tony was always so good as this. Moments flashed: Tony’s tongue moving Steve’s foreskin gently; tracing his slit; lavishing the sensitive spot under the head with attention. Everything mounted the ecstasy higher and higher, sent it along his limbs like warm sunlight, and he was panting so hard now, twisting his head and crying out and moaning so loud half the city must’ve heard him.  
  
Tony’s thumbs stroked over his hips teasingly, and Steve managed to wrench his eyes open and push his head down till he could see Tony’s face. His eyes were gleaming with encouragement, so dark and almost wild with it. Steve could imagine what Tony would be saying if he could: _That’s it, sweetheart, come on. Good boy. Let yourself feel it._  
  
A whimper punched out of Steve. Tony’s hands clutched tighter at his hips, and then he moved down Steve’s cock and sucked harder. The fierce, blindingly good suction built on Steve’s bright pleasure until he was rocketed towards the edge of it, his breath hitching and his fingers flexing on the leather. He loved being caught on the edge like this, all at Tony’s mercy, the pressure almost pulling at his ribs, like he could literally come apart under it. Then Tony hummed--a warm, low, inviting hum--and Steve jolted and came, hard, shooting down Tony’s throat. He could hear himself gasping, laid absolutely bare by the onslaught, and couldn’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed by it at all, anymore. Just sated and sweet and _easy_ with satisfaction.  
  
He drifted for the barest moment, thoughtless and content, then blinked and came back to the world as Tony hauled himself upwards. He was already yanking his zipper down, and Steve couldn’t help but give a pleased sigh as he bared his beautiful, hard cock, dark red with arousal. Steve was the cause of that--Steve had made Tony feel so good. Steve was right where he belonged, and everything was right with the world, right here and now.   
  
He smiled up at Tony; Tony made a punched-out noise as he got his hand around his cock and started stripping it frantically. “God, you’re _gorgeous,_ love, so perfect for me,” he moaned, staring straight at Steve.  
  
Steve felt his cheeks warm, and knew his smile was probably turning dopey, but who cared? Tony was so wonderful, and he was here for _Steve_, here to love him and take care of him. “Tony,” he mumbled, unable to make his mouth and brain cooperate further than that but unashamed of it.  
  
Tony groaned, his eyes fluttering shut then shooting back open. “God, Steve, the things you do to me. So perfect. So fucking hot, so beautiful, so _good_.” He must have noticed how Steve felt even softer inside at that, how he tipped his throat back to Tony, because then he panted out, “Yeah, you’re all mine, aren’t you? My good boy. Mine to mark up. Mine to _own_ and love and take care of, just _all_ mine.”  
  
Steve swallowed hard, gazing up at Tony’s fierce, incredible gaze. “Yours,” he managed. “Always.”  
  
“Fuck!” Tony bit out, and his cock jerked in his hand as he came. His come hit Steve’s chest in hot spurts, and Steve closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of it on his skin.  
  
“Good boy,” Tony murmured, after he caught his breath. His hand settled in Steve’s hair, and Steve sighed again under the touch of his clever fingers. Tony scratched at his scalp, and when he spoke, Steve could tell he was smiling. “So good for me, always, sweetheart. I love you so much.”  
  
“You too,” Steve mumbled. He forced his eyes open, but let them fall again when Tony kissed his forehead.  
  
“No, no, lovely, don’t worry about coming up right now. Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed, huh? It’s been a long morning, and I think we could both use a little rest. You wait here--I’ll be right back.”  
  
“Hmm,” Steve said. It seemed like barely a handful of seconds until Tony was back, touching Steve’s shoulder lightly.  
  
“Warm washcloth incoming.”  
  
“’Kay.” He still shivered under the feel of it, sensitized all over. Tony pressed a water bottle to his lips, then, and he drank heavily, more thirsty than he’d thought. Things were still so pleasantly fuzzed, in a bone-deep relaxation that was so different than the tension he distantly remembered from after the fight.  
  
“Hungry, too?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“All right, then. Up we go, mister.” A hand under his elbow, and Tony’s steady weight to lean against. The fibers of the rug beneath his feet. The edge of the bed, the covers already pulled back for him. Steve groaned in joy as he stretched out in the perfectly soft sheets.  
  
“There you go, _caro_.” There was a vivid happiness in Tony’s voice, and it made Steve smile too, as he felt Tony get into the bed with him and curl in close, all his cool, perfect skin laid against Steve’s. Steve opened his eyes just to see that face, the way Tony’s crow’s-feet were creased in a tiny, proud smile, and the way his brown eyes were full of satisfaction.  
  
“Thank you,” he breathed hoarsely.  
  
“Oh, love. Anytime,” Tony said. His hand came up to stroke delicately over Steve’s cheekbone, and Steve sighed, closed his eyes, and let himself drift under the warm hush in his mind and body. He knew Tony meant it. He knew Tony would always be there--whenever Steve needed him. He knew. Tony would always be there--whenever Steve needed him. He knew.


End file.
